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Prelude to the Beast	By : snakecharms Category: Anita Blake > General Views: 5020 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Anita Blake series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Now with summer closing in the chapters will come quicker.

Chapter 7

Ivory Keys

I awoke in bed. I rolled over, letting my eyes close once more. I didn’t have work today or class. God I loved summer. I reached my arm out to the other side of the bed, knowing I’d feel Angus lying beside me. He knew he wasn’t allowed in my bed, but every morning I awoke to find him there and didn’t have the heart to tell him to leave. Now it became routine. I roll over, feel him next to me, run my fingers through his wiry hair, and then he nudges me in the face, whining for a walk. It was defiantly a welcome routine. Angus was my only idea of family. Perhaps even my best friend.

Reaching over I felt nothing but an empty side of the bed, not even a warm spot where he might have rested and later left. Then the images flashed. Me, sliding across the floor, my head feeling like it had been bashed in, then the panic, and then darkness. I quickly sat up. My head started spinning and pounding almost immediately. Even through my distorted vision I could still make out what was around me. It was a king size canopy bed with long lacy drapes that seemed to envelop me. It was beautiful, something I’d drool over in the Spiegel catalog that would accidentally get put in my mailbox from time to time. Through the white lacy drapes I could see a fully furnished bedroom. Complete with a mahogany vanity, dresser, and coffee table. At first I was in complete awe. But it quickly faded. This wasn’t right. I didn’t belong here and I needed to figure out what the hell was going on. I tried to sit up further but my vision began to get distorted. Slowly I rolled over, making sure I was extra careful this time. And that’s when I noticed it. Or should I say him.

He was sitting on a piano bench with his back towards me, fingers running along the dark wood of the piano. The man was naked from the waist up but wasn’t the man from the steps. This one was shorter with less muscle but not at all less attractive. From the back anyway. His hair was shoulder length and a soft silky black. Half of it was swept up into a ponytail. His movements were slow and graceful as he unlocked the piano and lifted the wooden cover to the keys. I opened my mouth to say something but there was something about him. Something eerie and yet so captivating and mysterious. It almost felt as if it would be a sin to disrupt his graceful movements. Gently the man’s fingers touched the ivory keys so that no sound came. His elegant fingertips caressed them slowly and then he began to play. I almost felt the notes reverberate in my chest.

While he played, fingertips elegantly gliding along, never missing a beat, I tried to recall the piece. Moonlight Sonata. The piece fit him and the atmosphere like silk glove. I found myself hanging onto every note, every change in tempo, as if I needed it to survive. I needed it like oxygen, like fish craved water. And before I knew it my body was sinking back into the warm covers, eyes growing heavy but the need to listen hadn’t gone away. I was still hanging on the figure’s every movement. Then I heard something that could only be compared to a squeak. I knew the Moonlight Sonata and squeaking had never been part of the piece. Except my mind didn’t register it, just kept focusing on the music. But then the squeaking grew into a whisper…and the whisper into a groan…and the groan into a bark. Angus.

A jolt of awareness shot through me, leaving me feeling like a rape victim who just realized she had been slipped a mickey. I sat up, not giving a damn how bad my head was going to hurt. Everything was a swaying blur of colors. My eyes felt as if they were about to explode out of my head. What a messy thought. But I tried to focus through the pain, conjuring up the concentration I usually used when I was working with animals. My mind reached out, parting the immense pain as Moses did the seas, pushinrougrough until eventually the pain was behind me. Still there but in the back of my mind. Now lets see how long I could keep it up.

I pushed the long locks from my face. My hair felt like a rats nest, I was sure it looked it too. Now it was time to piece together everything I could remember. And I had about three seconds to do so.

My first thoughts were on my clothes. I had to make sure I was still wearing what I came in. If not then I was almost afraid to think of the possibilities. Relief washed over me when I realized I was only missing my jacket. Now my gun, that was missing along with Angus. They were the two things that I hated being without in a stick situation. A weapon and man’s best friend. Who could ask for more?

I winced when part of the pain tried to force its way over the mental barrier I had created. I had to get out… I felt a twinge of panic but forced it back. There was no way I was going to let panic over come me a second time. No way José. I had to be calm. Gently I turned to look at him.

I watched the bones along his back and arms move while he played so effortlessly. That midnight hair of his seemed so silky and soft, the light hitting it just right, setting an ebony-like glow. I wanted to reach out to him, run my fingers through that head of hair, and perhaps run my tounge….

The pain hit me like giant slap to the face. My concentration slipped, allowing the pain to flow through me once again. As much as I wanted to blame the man’s supernatural beauty I knew all to well that it was my own fault. Concentrating and parting the seas of pain one last time, I tried to force words from my lips.

It took me two tries but I managed a raspy, “Hey.”

His fingers stopped suddenly, certain notes being dragged out too long as if something great had interrupted his thoughts. I was willing to bet that had been me. And out of nowhere I felt regret well up within my stomach, as if interrupting him had been one of the seven deadly sins. I swallowed and reached my hands outward, parting the lace curtain that separated us.

He went completely still, like a cat. His hands were still gently resting on the ivory keys, head still not turning to look at me. My heart was thudding against my rib cage. His skin seemed richer, hair silkier without the whiteness of the curtain in the way.

Slowly I descended to the floor. I felt like a four year old as I tried to get off the bed. It was raised higher than most beds and throw in the fact that I was desperately trying to steady myself and you got a pretty awkward show. As soon as my bare feet touched the cool floor I realized I was a little too close to him and perhaps should have got out of bed on the other side. But I didn’t have time to think about that. I needed my gun, and above all my dog.

“Excuse me, mister...sir…guy.” My voice was sounding less hoarse but no less dry. What the hell had happened to me?

He didn’t answer, leaving me to sit and stare at the seductive curve of his back. The man was so still I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. I took a step off to the left, wondering if I could sneak out of the room. The chance of that was unlikely but you can’t blame a girl for trying.

“You should lie down.” His voice was gentle, crawling across my skin like cool sea glass on the hottest of days and freezing me in mid-stride. It was at that exact moment i realized i was alone in the room with the Master of Baltimore.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Prelude to the Beast